


Scenes From Stories I'll Never Write

by Basalamander



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, Multi, Prophecy, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basalamander/pseuds/Basalamander
Summary: Just a few short scenes from stories I'll never finish. Feel free to comment or whatever. Updates will probably be sporadic. The writing is trash ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. See chapter notes for summaries of each story.
Kudos: 2





	Scenes From Stories I'll Never Write

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yâldrak is a cursed dragon, said to be the bringer of destruction and anarchy every hundred years. He is prophesized to overthrow the Vuxari of dragons and rule the land of Garganböth with an iron talon. Ardrex is the prophesized Yâldrak, and the Vuxari is his father. Ostracised by his peers, Ardrex is determined to defy his dark path and create his own destiny.
> 
> But perhaps this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, and in his journey to defy his destiny, he will only seal it.

Lightning struck the earth, jolting a golden figure awake. His yellow, serpentine eyes flung open at the ear-splitting noise, staring out of his cave with apprehension. The thick, salty scent of the ocean overpowered each of his senses, forcing him to close his nose. Another strike of lightning made his flatten his ears against the din, wings curling over his feline figure as panic settled in.

The Golden Mountains were a calm place, the reddish-yellow earth rising high above the savannas below. Dragons revered the earth here, knowing it to be the place the First Gods shaped when they formed the rest of Garganböth. Miraculously, it _never_ stormed this close to the First-Cold in the Mountains. The First Gods saw it fit to keep their first creation safe from the shadows of clouds, and thus tonight's storm unnerved him.

This dragon's cave lied at the top of the mountains, a large alcove dug out by his ancestors seven hundred years ago. During the day, the redstone cave was illuminated by not only the double suns, but earthfire candles. Sparkling jewels and treasures won from conquests littered the floor of the cave, and the dragon kept others out of his home out of fear of thieves. But who would dare to steal from him? He was a Fernuis, second only to the Vuxari. Stealing from him was signing a death warrant.

The dragon took in two quick breaths to calm himself, twisting his head to look at the other figures in his nest. The first was his size and shape; a long thin figure with a hide the color of pale autumnal trees. Her haunches were as silver as the stars, while her short horns were as black as cooled earthfire. She had a large, rounded belly that clearly showed a late stage of pregnancy, a development he looked awaited with bated breath. This was his mate, Sanurth. An experienced healer of the Garganböth.

The second figure was barely the size of even the smallest sharks, with a leaf-yellow hide and wings the color of spring grass. She stirred lightly, but didn't wake.

His mate had their daughter curled under her reddish wings, keeping her warm through the bitter storm. He was glad that his young nestling hadn’t been awaken by the rain and lightning, but his mate had her emerald-eyes open wide.

“This is unnatural,” she whispered, tilting her head towards the tempest outside. “Our storms are to be few and in between, with summers being the only times we experience hurricanes. But the snow is building up, and the trees are dying, the animals are returning to their hearths to live out the cold. The First-Cold is in a fortnight, this shouldn’t be happening.”

The dragon rested one of his wings over his mate’s back, cooing softly to her. “Worry not, Sanurth,” he murmured. “If this rain continues, it might be a good omen. More rain will mean the rivers and lakes will fill. The more they fill, the more animals we will hunt. Perhaps this is a herald for the new year proclaiming that we will be blessed with a plentiful bounty.”

Sanurth narrowed her eyes at him, fluffing her wings and tucking a piece of their nest back into place. “If you say so,” she growled. “But still, it might be a bad omen…I don’t know, Nyörrhar.” She tipped her head towards her nestling, before snuggling her closer. Little Keita barely stirred due to the disturbance, and instead huddled deeper into her mother’s embrace. “I worry for our nestling is all.”

“She’ll be fine.” Nyörrhar waved a golden wing dismissively. "The first six sons and daughters of our Vuxari were all hatched during days of storm, and his mate is due with another. What better day for him to be brought into this world than a day where the First Gods are blessing us?"

"Our princes and princesses hatched during the _day_ ," Sanurth said frantically. "A storm during the _day_. A day with a full moon." She stared out of their cave, focused on the storm. "There is no moon tonight, my mate. It is the darkest night. The sky is shadowed with _evil_. What if... what if this son is the Yâldrak?"

Nyörrhar snarled. "If he is truly the Yâldrak, I have no doubts that our Vuxari will dispose of him should he become a threat. Six princes and princesses stand before him, plus the Vuxari's _Kaiketh_. His warriors will not let him die. _I_ will not let him die. If I must kill a nestling to save my Vuxari, then I shall."

Sanurth folded her wings and nodded. "If you are sure."

Nyörrhar was somewhat unsettled by his mate's melancholy attitude. Surely, as the flock's oldest and most experienced herbalist, a little storm couldn't bother her? She had mended broken bones, stitched the most revolting wounds and cured disruptive diseases. The Yâldrak would not pose a threat to the Garganböth with all dragons who stood in his way...

But the fact that _rain_ unnerved her was a bad omen in itself.

Nyörrhar shuffled back into his nest, curling his fanned tail over his talons. He would return to sleep and awake tomorrow, fully prepared to serve his Vuxari. No need to worry about the Yâldrak returning tonight. He only needed to worry about his Vuxari's orders, and the encroaching threat of the Dragonborn.

But his mate's worries were not unfounded.

There was a single flash of lightning that sent sparks flashing out the cave. A noise sounding too similar to an explosion followed the flash, along with a horrid, anguished shriek. The noises sent cold shivers down Nyörrhar's spine, and this time they were enough to wake Keita. The nestling began to cry, her whines filling the air of the den as Sanurth gave him a rueful look. She proceeded to calm down the nestling, whispering ancient songs in her ears.

Nyörrhar launched himself from the nest and straight to the cave entrance, his eyes narrowed in determination. As the Fernuis, he must find the source of the explosion and scream, hoping it wasn't life-threatening. As he dashed away, he barely avoided colliding with a young dragon who landed at the entrance.

"By the _Gods_ –watch where you're going!" Nyörrhar hissed, flaring his wings. The pale viridian dragon looked chagrined, folding his wings and bowing.

"Forgive my, Grace," he murmured, casting a nervous glance at the wailing nestling. "But His Most Serene Majesty said to fetch you." The young dragon lifted his wings and puffed out his chest as if to make himself look noble and composed, even as he jumped at another flash of lightning. "The Vuxari's mate has just hatched a son... and the oracles fear that he may be the Yâldrak."

Nyörrhar snarled. _So, he has decided to rear his ugly head once more. Then I have no choice but to kill him._ "Of course," he said to the dragon. "I shall be by my Vuxari's side. Thank you for informing me..."

"Sethax xî Lareth, Grace."

“Thank you, Sethax.” Nyörrhar replied. The viridian dragon spread his long wings in a bow before winging off into the storm.

With a murmur of apology, Nyörrhar left his mate with their crying kit and followed the young warrior into the harsh rain. As his wings were battered with raindrops, he wondered what would happen if this new nestling was indeed the Yâldrak. The Garganböth survived hundreds of years against the Yâldrak's malicious practices and plans, a hero rising each year to take him down.

A hero hatched on the longest day, destined to destroy the villain of shadows. Dragons were considered the Children of the Daystar, warriors of light, fire and justice. As they'd been told for many generations, the night and sea brought only death and destruction. The cold moon, dark magic, all things they cursed and turned their backs on.

And this new prince dared to be hatched on a day that embodied them _all_.

Nyörrhar would not allow it.

He would kill this nestling, this harbinger of doom and destruction. He would save his homeland, the land of his ancestors. He would never let this beast survive past his first hatchday.

He would become a monster to kill another.


End file.
